Unhidden
by queerbending
Summary: "Lassie, I'm… I'm not really psychic." Lassiter scoffs, "tell me something I don't know." Sometimes, love is easy. And sometimes it nearly gets you killed.


**THURSDAY, 04:13.**

"Do you really want your last words to me to be a lie?"

"Do you really want to know the truth?" Shawn asks in response, fighting the urge to tell Lassiter that these won't be his last words. That they aren't going to die here. He knows that argument would die on his lips. They've been in some intense life or death situations before, but none like this.

Still, Lassiter has to stop and consider it. No, he doesn't want the confirmation that he has spent the last several years searching for. He doesn't want to become responsible for Shawn or be involved in the lunatic's law-breaking.

"No, I suppose not."

They both fall silent once again. Shawn is still barely awake, leaning heavily against debris, face covered in dirt and shirt coated in blood. At least it's all dried now and he isn't actively bleeding out, but he's finding it more and more difficult to keep his eyes open every moment.

He wishes this was somehow _not_ his fault. He should have known there was a trap waiting for him. _Only_ him. Lassie wasn't supposed to have shown up so soon. It's a miracle he'd shown up at all. Shawn knows the detective doesn't like vague calls in the middle of the night, especially from his least favorite person in the station.

So he'd offered a bogus explanation of his psychic visions leading him here, only to find their killer and his latest victim in the building. Shawn had been taken by surprise, knocked out by the suspect and when he woke up, he was bleeding and he only caught a glimpse of Lassiter running towards him, gun drawn, before the building came down around them.

He can't breathe.

That's what this all comes down to. Here, now, injured and exhausted and definitely concussed. Shawn can't breathe and he can tell that Lassiter's struggling too. That the lack of oxygen and excess debris, combined with the fact Shawn is pretty sure there's a fire outside this room, means they won't make it long.

Which brings Shawn back to his conclusion that they may both die here.

"Is Jules coming?"

"I called her as soon as I got off the phone with you, but she was asleep. Who knows when she'll get here." Shawn just nods silently, desperate to find some discussion important enough to keep him awake. "What about Guster? Did you tell him where you were going?"

"Voicemail," he replies quietly. A small chuckle leaves his lips accompanied by the slightest hint of a smile. "He's going to hear that when he wakes up and be super pissed. He might just come down here and kill me himself."

Lassiter's chest tightens, eyebrows pull together. If anyone's killing Shawn for being a dumbass, it's going to be him. After all, he's the one down here about to die because of one of Shawns 'psychic' visions.

Which once again circles back to his question earlier.

Shawn had claimed he had a very intense psychic vision about this place. That's how he'd found the killer.

And did Shawn really want his last words to Lassiter to be a lie?

Most likely. Carlton knows the man well enough to know that he lives in his lies. That lies and jokes are Shawn's security blanket. That they aren't always meant as deception in the simplest of terms. It's the man's way of survival.

"Spencer…"

Shawn grunts as he tries to sit up further, one hand on his stomach as his other palm is pressed as much into the floor as possible, ignoring the tiny pieces of ceiling tile that pierce his skin.

"Look, Lassie, if you're about to berate me, don't bother. I know I screwed up and I shouldn't have gotten you involved in this. I didn't think I was going to get us killed."

"On the _contrary,_ you shouldn't have been up here. You're a civilian. You don't need to take these types of unnecessary risks with your _life._ It's my job to get the bad guy."

Although still in pain, Shawn's smile grows. It isn't every day he gets to share moments like this with Lassiter.

"Aw, Lassie. You _do_ care."

Carlton bites back the_ 'of course I do, idiot' _that he feels inclined to spit out. This is no time for confessions of that magnitude. Or perhaps it's the _only_ time. He isn't sure. Maybe taking this secret to his grave is better than isolating Shawn in their last moments.

He'd rather die a liar than die alone.

However, after a few moments of silence, Shawn proves not to have the same reservations. The man coughs a few times before meeting Lassie's gaze.

"Lassie, I'm… I'm not really psychic."

Lassiter scoffs.

"Tell me something I _don't_ know."

But there it is. The confession he'd sought for years. The truth he'd always known, but no one else had been able to see.

A few years ago, Lassiter would have had Shawn in handcuffs right now, even if the man _was_ on the verge of death. A criminal is a criminal. Shawn just happens to be a criminal who does a lot of good for the world.

A criminal who just happened to hold Carlton's heart in his hands.

"When my dad arrested me when I was eighteen…" Shawn's voice trails off for a moment, eyes closing briefly before he forces himself to focus on Lassie again. "You were a rookie cop. You were at the station. He asked you for handcuffs and you took too long to grab them, so he got frustrated and booked me himself."

Lassiter takes a moment to think, but nods.

"I _do_ remember that, actually. Your hair was longer. I could tell you were a nuisance just by looking at you."

Shawn's smile offers them both a sliver of comfort, but not quite enough to distract from the grave circumstances.

"Yeah, but what you _don't_ know is…" A heavy exhale. It's obvious the physical and emotional toll all of this is taking on Shawn. "… I kept thinking that I would have done anything to have your hands on me."

It would have pissed Henry off to see Shawn, mid-arrest, flirting with a beat cop. Especially one who would have been flustered by it and, at that time, Lassiter absolutely would have been.

Which isn't to say that Shawn doesn't fluster him these days. He's just better at hiding it.

Pressing his lips into a thin line as if trying to suppress his feelings and put all this behind him, Lassiter keeps his distance, hovering around the other side of the small room as if afraid the distance between them is the only thing keeping them alive. Keeping them sane.

"Lassie…" Hearing his name break's Carlton's concentration and he looks back up at Shawn with an expectant look in his eye. "I still would."

Two confessions in ten minutes is almost too much. Lassiter swallows the lump in his throat and half-reluctantly closes the distance between them, sitting beside Shawn and wrapping an arm around the man's shoulders.

He can hear the fire outside crackling. He can hear the building falling to pieces. He can hear their lives slipping away.

"If you tell anyone about this, I swear to god, Spencer, I will shoot you."

Shawn doesn't have the energy to make jokes. His eyes close again, only this time he doesn't reopen them immediately. They stay shut as he collapses into Lassiter's hold, mouth hanging slightly open as his head falls to Lassie's shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure you'll get your chance."

That's the closest to a joke Shawn gets. Lassie sits there, holding Shawn in silence, until the pseudo-psychic is passed out. Only then does Lassie carefully lay Shawn on the ground and resume his search for a way out of this basement.

**FRIDAY, 14:00.**

The first thing Shawn notices as he blinks his eyes open is how bright it is. The only thing he can think is that he's finally kicked the bucket and all this light is hellfire.

After blinking through the burn, Shawn sees Henry sitting beside him, arms crossed over his chest as if he's more disappointed in Shawn for getting himself into this than he is relieved Shawn didn't end up dead.

"Henry," Shawn greets tiredly, eyes only half-open as he examines his surroundings. How he isn't dead, he isn't sure. He doesn't remember anything after telling Lassie he's not a psychic. Speaking of which —

Shawn lifts both of his arms, surprised to find out he isn't handcuffed to the hospital bed. Hands lifted into the air, he merely stares for a moment in silence.

"Shawn, what are you doing? Put your hands down."

Henry's voice is as even as always. Calculated. Angry. It's a tone Shawn is well acquainted with. He's never done much of anything except disappoint Henry, even since they started getting along. It's written in his DNA. Shawn Spencer: Psychic Disappointment.

"Where's Lassie?"

Henry cracks a smirk at the same time as he manages half an eye roll.

"What? No 'what happened to me' or 'why am I not dead' or 'thanks, Dad, for coming to visit'?"

It's Shawn's turn to roll his eyes.

"Thanks, Dad, for coming to visit. Where's Lassie?"

It's possible, he deduces, that Lassiter just hasn't come by yet. That the detective has been dealing with his own injuries or walking through red tape to warrant arresting Shawn or any number of things that would slow Shawn's impending incarceration.

"He's at the station. He was released yesterday. His injuries were significantly less severe than yours. Why does that matter right now? You have yourself to worry about."

"Yesterday? What day is it? How long was I out?"

Shawn sits up despite the pain that shoots through his body, despite Henry's protests, despite his better judgment.

"You were out for about a day and a half. It's Friday afternoon."

Shawn's shoulders drop, eyes close as he considers the possibilities for what might happen once the cops find out he's awake. Maybe he should ask to be discharged and leave town now before they show up.

"What's going on, Shawn? Why are you so concerned about Lassiter? There are about a _million_ other things you should be worried about right now. Like getting back on your feet. You took a beating back there, kid. Gave us all a scare."

"I'm fine, Dad. Can you just tell them to let me go home?"

**SUNDAY, 23:07.**

Convincing everyone he was good to go home had been difficult. This is the first time he's been left alone for more than two minutes, and only because he'd finally yelled at Gus to go home… _and_ had promised to call if anything happened regardless of how unimportant it seemed.

All Shawn can feel is his heart pounding against his chest as he sits there alone in the silence.

That's when a terrible idea strikes him.

Once again making decisions he knows he shouldn't, he gets dressed and hops on his motorcycle. If they didn't want him leaving, they should have taken his key. Clearly, the fact that they didn't means this is totally okay.

At first, he isn't sure where he's trying to go. He leaves just because he needs to get out and explore. Shawn never has been the type to sit at home and wallow.

So he drives. Stops only when he reaches Lassiter's house. Parks on the yard like the delinquent Lassie already thinks he is.

It's with sweaty palms that Shawn approaches and knocks on the door, heart beating faster as he worries about what awaits him on the other side of the door. Instant arrest. Endless lecturing. He isn't sure what to expect. This is _Lassiter_. There's always the opportunity for a curveball.

Shawn had saved Lassiter's life before. Maybe the detective would give him time to run as payment. After all, they're friends, aren't they?

"—Spencer?" The surprise in Lassie's voice is as obvious as it is on his face. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at home?"

The detective's eyes wander to the bike, but he shakes off the frustration at it being on his lawn in favor of temporarily focusing on the man in front of him.

"Lassie, we need to talk."

Shawn seems more confident now. More like himself. Less like he's got one foot in the land of the dead. It's almost enough to relax Lassiter, who steps aside to grant Shawn entrance into his house.

The two men move to the living room where Shawn takes a seat on the couch. Lassiter, who's still standing, glances at the kitchen.

"Do you, uh, need a water, or anything?"

Shawn shakes his head, so Lassiter hesitantly walks over and sits on the couch beside his friend. There's as much distance between them as possible, Shawn with knees pulled up to his chest and Lassiter turned facing Shawn, one leg pulled up on the cushion and arm spread atop the back of the couch.

This is a first for them.

Not the first time Shawn had shown up unexpectedly or uninvited, but the first time they were ever so casual about it. The first time Lassiter hadn't gotten mad and ushered him out.

"About the case… I know you could arrest me for—"

"Breaking and entering. Withholding evidence. Not being licensed to operate as a detective. Obstruction of justice."

Shawn's well aware the list can keep going on. That there are so many other reasons he could be in handcuffs right now. Only one of them sounds pleasant and it doesn't involve _actually_ being arrested.

"—Right, Lassie. I know. I'm in a bit of trouble."

Lassiter scoffs, shaking his head slightly.

"Spencer, this goes _beyond_ being in a little trouble. Every case you've ever helped us solve could be thrown out. Do you realize how many criminals could end up back on the street?"

Including Drimmer.

Lassiter doesn't want to think about Drimmer. Doesn't want to relive that case. He could have been charged with murder. Shawn could have died. Drimmer's an idiot and he would want revenge for being shot. And arrested. And outsmarted.

"Only if you tell," comes Shawn's slow, quiet answer.

It's a lot of pressure to put on one man. Knowing a secret, having the responsibility of bringing it to light, knowing what could happen if he does.

Not only will Shawn be in trouble, but Gus and Henry are neck deep in this as well. Gus has spent all of these years aiding Shawn, and Henry has covered for him plenty of times. They could all three be arrested.

Vick's authority could be challenged. After all, she's the one who has repeatedly hired this so-called psychic. She's the one who's been paying his bills.

He has everyone fooled. Always has.

Everyone except Lassiter.

"So now it's my fault you've spent the last several years breaking the law? I'm not responsible for your decisions. Only my own."

"Lassie—"

"No! I don't want to hear it, Spencer." His eyebrows pull together, expression more sad than angry, and he leans forward just a bit. Voice lowers in his concern for the man in front of him. "We all have consequences to face because of our actions. You can't avoid it forever."

"Lassie," Shawn repeats, stronger this time. "I was _going_ to say… I'm sorry. I know I let you down and you have every right to walk into the station tomorrow morning and tell the chief everything. I wouldn't hold it against you."

How could he? Justice and upholding the law are both incredibly important to Carlton. Shawn would never dream of hindering that. He loves Lassie as he is.

"Spencer…"

"—Tell me something," Shawn interjects. There are things they need to talk about before he'll willingly go away to prison, after all. "How did we get out of that building?"

Lassiter shifts, gaze moving to the floor. His discomfort is obvious.

"I… Well, after you… passed out, I…" The man closes his eyes and exhales before garnering the courage to look back at Shawn. "I opened the door and I carried you out. Figured if we were going to die anyway, we may as well die trying to find the exit." Another brief pause. "O'Hara found us just as I collapsed. She got EMS in and took us both to the hospital."

"And our killer?"

"Disappeared. We've had an APB out but so far, nothing. Our guy's a ghost."

And if anyone in the department is an expert at tracking ghosts, it certainly isn't Lassiter. Something he does know, however, is that the chief has every intention of grilling Shawn for information regarding the suspect's location as soon as he's feeling better.

"Sounds like you could use a psychic," Shawn jokes, only to fall into a coughing fit.

Lassiter instinctively scoots closer and pulls Shawn against his chest. If anyone had doubted Lassiter's concern for Shawn, this is the only proof they should need that the man does care for the psychic.

"_Shawn,_ I know the truth. You don't need to hide from me."

Slowly, Shawn looks up at the detective. Their eyes meet with a gentle greeting, Shawn reading all of the feelings written into Lassie's eyes. He doesn't _want_ to hide anymore.

"Okay. You're right. 'M not a psychic. And I didn't… pick anything up about where he might be going. I just kept thinking how stupid I am and how I was going to get you killed."

Lassiter cracks a small smile.

"It takes more than one lunatic destroying a building to kill me. You should know that by now."

Lassiter leans back all the way, tugging Shawn with him so that they're both lying down, with Shawn at his side, head resting on Lassie's chest. Shawn's left arm is underneath them, right arm thrown overtop with his hand resting about the detective's heart.

Lassie moves his left hand to Shawn's right, his own right hand entangling in Shawn's hair.

"I know… I know you have to turn me in tomorrow, Lassie." They aren't looking at each other anymore, but they can _feel_ the lack of tension in the room. The lack of hatred between them. "But for now, if you would just hold me, I'd say that's worth it."

Minutes pass in silence, chests rising and falling in tune.

Shawn's on the verge of falling asleep when Lassiter speaks up again.

"I know you're in love with me."

The words are spoken quietly, but without doubt. This is something he knows for certain. As certainly as he'd always known that Shawn Spencer was no psychic.

"I know you're in love with me, too."

"So where does that leave us?"

More silence. Lassiter doesn't dare to look at Shawn, simply holds him closer and closes his eyes. Maybe what they both need is sleep. Maybe this is a conversation that can wait until the morning. Maybe —

"Do me a favor?" Lassie merely nods in response, humming a small _mhm_ for Shawn to hear. "When you arrest me tomorrow… Don't put the cuffs on too tight? My wrists are very sensitive."

It's obviously a joke. Lassiter can tell. It's an attempt at defending himself. Lassiter can't blame him.

"I mean it, Lassie. I bruise easy. I know you don't want to hurt me."

"Go to sleep, Shawn. I'll see you in the morning."

The psychic does as directed, falls asleep right there on Lassie's couch, pressed into the detective's side. Even knowing what tomorrow holds, it's the most peaceful sleep he's had in years.

**MONDAY, 08:15.**

Lassiter is already gone when Shawn wakes up, head killing him. It takes a moment to remember where he is.

A groan accompanies his moving off the couch and, still in the clothes from the night before and still with bed hair, he hops back on his motorcycle and drives to the station, ignoring the seventeen calls he has from Gus asking where he is.

He'll call Gus back. He just has something to do first.

Today, walking into the station feels different than it ever has before. The place weighs on his shoulders in a way he could never imagine. Even being greeted happily by Buzz doesn't manage to bring a smile to Shawn's face.

"Shawn?"

He only turns around once he realizes Lassiter isn't at his desk and it's then that Shawn finds himself face to face with Juliet.

"Ah, hey, Jules." His response comes as casually as he can manage, as if trying not to seem worried or upset. As if trying to hide the fact that just a few days ago he had nearly been killed. Had nearly gotten her partner killed.

"Shawn, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for Lassie. Do you know where he is? The spirits are telling me something's… bothering him today. I was going to see if he had breakfast already. It's the most important meal of the day, you know."

Juliet doesn't react to his rambling. She's very used to it by now.

"Ah, he ate a muffin and had a coffee. He's in with the chief right now."

That gets his attention. Shawn's eyes widen in fear. He'd anticipated Lassiter turning him in, but that doesn't mean he's ready. There's still so much the two of them have to talk about.

"Okay, uh, Jules, do me a favor. Call Gus and my dad. Tell them I'm here and that I might be in a lot of trouble."

Juliet chuckles.

"I don't think they're even talking about you, Shawn. They had their debrief on Thursday's incident _on Thursday._ It wasn't like it was your fault or anything. You did what you should have done. We're all just glad you called Carlton for backup."

"Just do it, Jules. Please."

She nods and pulls out her phone, although visibly confused.

Shawn, reckless as ever, barges into the chief's office with no regard for whatever she and Lassiter may be talking about.

"Spencer?" Lassiter calls, immediately standing and walking to Shawn's side, reaching out as if afraid the psychic will fall apart without him. "What are you doing here? You should be at home."

But Shawn ignores him, merely batting the detective away and focusing entirely on Vick. Who looks angry. Presumably because he just interrupted her meeting with her head detective.

This day is starting off great for him.

"Listen, I _know_ what you and Lassie were talking about and I just wanted to tell you—"

Lassiter's eyes widen and he immediately brings a hand to cover Shawn's mouth. Both men are unaware of Juliet and McNab in the doorway looking on with concerned expressions.

"—Actually, Spencer, Chief Vick and I were just discussing a new case. There was a robbery last night. She needs me to check it out. And _no_ we don't need a psychic."

Gaze now locked on Shawn, Lassiter drops his hand back to his side. Karen looks curious, as if she's wondering what Lassiter is now covering up.

"… Okay. Did you… _divine_ something about this case, Mr. Spencer, or is there something you feel I should know?"

Shawn swallows nervously, taking a half step back and hiding behind Carlton.

"Oh. I just thought… Lassie here might be telling you about, uh… Well, it's nothing, really. It was about the son of a bitch who tried to kill me, but I don't have any new information. Which is what I actually told Carly last night when I saw him."

Shawn's words are interrupted periodically by nervous laughter.

Chief Vick isn't convinced and looks at Lassiter for a better explanation. He straightens his shoulder, clears his throat, and is visibly resigning himself to be honest with her.

This is it.

Shawn is sure this is the moment his career falls apart. His _life_ falls apart.

Maybe he can make a deal to keep Henry and Gus out of the fire. Maybe he can make a deal to keep himself in the _least_ bit of trouble possible. Maybe Lassie took their conversation last night to heart and won't cuff him too tightly.

Maybe…

"That's not entirely untrue. Spencer told me he hasn't _divined_ anything from last week's case. I think his head injury is reason enough to keep him out of cases for the next few days."

Karen takes a moment to consider it and nods.

"I would agree. But there's still something the two of you aren't telling me."

"Chief, if I may…" Shawn moves a hand to Lassiter's back, gentle, an act of affection. He isn't sure they'll get any other opportunities for it, so he takes advantage of all the comfort he can get from the man. "It's time I come clean. The truth is…"

"—Shawn and I are dating."

Lassiter's interruption steals everyone's attention. He hears McNab drop what would have been Carlton's third cup of coffee and although he can't see her, he can imagine Juliet's look mirrors the shock on Vick's own face.

Carlton slides an arm around Shawn's waist and pulls him closer before continuing.

"It's why I didn't wait for O'Hara Thursday morning. I knew Shawn was in danger and I reacted emotionally. I know you expect more from your head detective and I'm sorry we've been deceiving you. As you know, I'm a private person and I just wasn't ready to air my personal life out to the whole department."

"Oh." Sitting up straighter, Chief Vick nods. "Oh, well, okay. Thank you for finally telling me, Detective. If I may ask, how long has this been going on, exactly?"

"It's relatively new," Lassie answers. Shawn's eyes are trained on him. He can _feel_ the psychic's gaze warming his cheek. "We haven't even told anyone else. But we were talking last night about coming clean. Not hiding."

"So," Juliet speaks up, unable to stop herself. "Are you finally saying you think Shawn really is a psychic? I mean, you wouldn't date him if you thought he was lying to you, right?"

Lassiter and Shawn both turn to look at her. That's a dangerous question. And it's a test of Lassiter's dedication to this cover.

"I believe… Shawn is who he is. Regardless of whether or not I believe in what he claims to be, I believe in him. And that's enough for me."

Shawn smiles. _Actually_ smiles for the first time in days.

"Oh. Well, I believe we're done here. Thank you, Detective, for coming to me with this. I think there will be another conversation about this in the future, but for now you are dismissed. I'm sure the two of you have quite a bit to talk about."

"Yes, Chief."

And just like that, the two men leave her office, following by the pair of onlookers who have been spying on them since the moment Shawn stepped into the building.

They walk, arms still around each other, to Lassiter's desk. Lassie sits in his chair while Spencer opts to sit atop the desk.

"So… _dating,_ huh?"

Reaching out for Shawn's hand, Lassie nods, entwining their fingers.

"That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

It's Shawn's turn to nod and his smile only grows.

Juliet, however, has a million questions. The two men avoiding answering as many of them as they can for now, feeling relaxed until Gus and Henry storm in on a warpath for Shawn.

"Shawn!" Gus calls out, hands in fists. "You had me so worried! You were supposed to _call_ me if you needed anything. What was so important you had to take your motorcycle out and turn off your phone?"

But Henry notices what Gus doesn't: Lassiter and Shawn hand-in-hand, smiling, relaxing into each other.

"Sorry, buddy. I had something important to do. Let's not talk about it here, okay?"

"You're really not going to tell me why you gave me a heart attack? What kind of friend _are_ you?"

Henry once again crosses his arms over his chest — signature Henry move. Shawn wouldn't expect anything less. And he smiles. This may just be the first time Shawn has disappointed him and made him proud at the same time.

Well, save for when he decided to become a psychic detective in the first place.

"Guster," Lassie interrupts, lifting the hand holding Shawn's. "Shawn was with me. I'm sorry I didn't call you. I think you should let us explain over dinner. Henry, you're welcome to come."

"Oh." Gus stares, obviously finding it difficult to process what's happening.

"I'll cook for everyone," Henry offers. "Tonight. Be at my place at 7 o'clock. I have a feeling there's more you two aren't telling us."

**MONDAY, 19:00.**

Shawn and Lassiter show up on time. Lassiter isn't about to let his first impression as Shawn's boyfriend be that they can't make it anywhere on time. He understands the importance of being prompt to appointments and meetings.

The four men are left sitting at the table with their food, all unusually quiet until Henry finally asks, obviously frustrated, what the hell is going on.

"Yeah, Shawn," Gus adds. "Juliet called and said you were in _trouble_. What's the big idea?"

"Guys, it's okay. I thought Lassie was telling the chief that I lied about being psychic, but I was wrong."

Gus and Henry are missing a million pieces of the puzzle. When had Shawn told the truth? _Why_ had Shawn told the truth? How did that lead to him dating Lassiter?

"Shawn confessed to me when we were trapped in that building."

"That he wasn't a psychic?"

"That he was in love with you?"

Henry and Gus, respectively, ask their questions at the same time. Shawn and Lassiter only look at each other and nod. Yes, both. In a way. In the only way that matters to them.

"I kind of talked myself into a corner with the Chief," Shawn adds. "So I was going to come clean to her, too, but _Lassie_ here covered for me. Said that what I was hiding was our relationship."

Lassiter smiles at Shawn, gives his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not _happy_ to know you all have been lying this whole time."

"—Yeah, I really thought he was going to arrest me."

"_But_ I… love Shawn. And he's an outstanding detective. We're lucky to have him. So if being with him means putting up with this psychic bullshit, then I'll cover for him."

"And…" Henry sounds cautious, looks still uncertain. "If you two were to breakup?"

Shawn looks incredulous, but they all know he's never been one for commitment. This psychic gig is the only thing he's ever given a real try and it's based on lies. Who's to say he and Lassiter _won't_ break up in a month? A week? A _day?_

"Like I said, he's an outstanding detective and we're lucky to have him. That will always be true, my _personal_ feelings aside. I'd sooner transfer before I deprived the department of his talent."

It seems enough to satisfy Henry and Gus for now. They finish up dinner with greater comfort and openness. Shawn and Lassie still have quite a bit to figure out. Like how they plan on making this work in the first place.

But things are okay for right now. They have plenty of time.

After all, Shawn won't be allowed to do anything this _dumb_ again for at least a few weeks.


End file.
